


He Is Risen

by Edie_Rone



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Easter, F/M, MSR, MSR at the UH, but we don't talk about cc's nonsense, good morning, revival era, sweet and fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 10:10:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20405995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edie_Rone/pseuds/Edie_Rone
Summary: Easter morning at the unremarkable house; Mulder finds yet another way to obnoxiously, endearingly, stupidly love his Scully.





	He Is Risen

_“…mmffghhhfFUGOFF …”_

“Jesus is risen!”

It’s too loud, too chirpy, for any morning, but especially for the first Sunday she’s had free in weeks. He knows this, which is what’s so funny about it. They can nap later. But now: 

“Jesus is risen!”

He does it again, with a slight bounce on the bed. Part of the lump of blankets moves in a vaguely threatening way. He laughs, pulling them down enough to reveal a wave of soft silver-flecked red on the pillow.

_“…stoppit gerroffme …”_

“I can’t stop until you say it baaa-aaack,” he singsongs, full of the most irritating mirth. He leans toward the lump that is her head under covers, ducks inside, and says it an inch from her ear at much lower volume but the exact same hearty, delighted tone: “Jesus is risen!”

Something pointed — an elbow, maybe? surely not a knee — strikes him in the chest and he falls back onto his side of the bed.

“My grandmother Scully’s been dead for THIRTY YEARS dammit, leave me alone!”

It’s heavily muffled and loaded with ire, but at least those were actual words. He’s winning.

“No treats until you do the response!” he insists. “Jesus is risen!”

“I should never tell you anything, ever,” she grumbles, with real malice. He laughs — he can afford to, he’s been up for an hour hiding eggs all over the house, and he’s already had coffee. Plus three chocolate bunnies and a two-pack of Peeps. And a Cadbury Creme Egg. And a handful of jelly beans. And some speckled M&Ms.

“Too late, family traditions are important and I’m EVER so glad you told me this one,” he says, and it sounds exactly as shit-eating as the grin on his face feels. He kneels on the mattress at her side.

“Jesus is risen!” he proclaims, pulling the covers entirely off of her with dramatic flourish, then nearly choking: She’s naked as a newborn baby chick, sleep-warm and twice as sweet — well, ok, more like a chile pepper right _now_ but —

Actually, she might be about to murder him? The ice in her blue eyes says she could, easily … slightly troubling, how hot that is …

But something she sees must strike her fancy, because instead of smothering him with a pillow, she turns fully onto her back, stretches languidly, settles herself with her arms above her head, draws one knee up in a pinup pose, bites her lip in secret amusement. Her gaze sweeps him from sleep-mussed spiky hair to socked feet, pausing ostentatiously at his tented-out boxers before meeting his eyes again and murmuring: “Jesus is risen, indeed!”

_Oh, you dirty girl, _he thinks appreciatively.

“Praise be to God!” he continues, palming himself lewdly and moving to straddle her.

“Praise be indeed,” she replies, pulling him down on top of her by the waistband of his shorts. The ritual exchange complete, he kisses her soundly, chocolate vs. morning breath, her soft skin under his touch so familiar and perfect. One of her hands is buried in his hair, the other wedges between the two of them to stroke him slowly.

“At my age, _that’s_ an Easter miracle,” he says, between kisses on her neck, her shoulder, the spot behind her hear that makes her shiver.

She giggles, a little breathlessly. “Easter at Grandma Scully’s was never — _ohhhh _— quite like this.”

He laughs, his tongue making its way slowly down her body. “Family traditions are meant to change with the times, my little … spring … lamb …”

“Ahhhh, _Je_sus …”

“Hey,” he pauses, looking up from his favorite vantage point. “Guess what? _This_ treat’s got a creamy center!”

He can tell she doesn’t want to laugh, but it bubbles up anyway — at least until it turns to a sigh and a moan as he gets back to what he was doing.

He hasn’t been to church in decades, but he thinks it can’t be better for the soul than the shouts of praise and gratitude echoing off the walls of this room, their sanctuary, with just the two of them as congregants. These days — every day, with her — he believes in miracles with all his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by my devout Catholic friend M’s story from her childhood, about how her grandma held the candy hostage until each grandchild had repeated her little call-and-response thing. Happy Easter, or just Sunday Funday to you all!


End file.
